


Got This Shifting Line in the Sand

by orange_8_hands



Series: Nails and Teeth [9]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Episode: s02e03 Bloodlust, F/F, Female Character of Color, Fingerfucking, Internalized Biphobia, Oral Sex, POV Female Character, POV Second Person, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Timestamp, Wall Sex, Wordcount: 1.000-3.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-20
Updated: 2013-12-20
Packaged: 2018-01-05 07:57:30
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,224
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1091489
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orange_8_hands/pseuds/orange_8_hands
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You want to fuck her. You want to fuck her but the thing is there's no guy to hide behind, no threesome or "experiment" or whatever else you tell yourself at the end of the day to explain away what this is.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Got This Shifting Line in the Sand

**Author's Note:**

> Timestamp to [Ch. 3 of Lay Some Bricks Down](http://archiveofourown.org/works/347060/chapters/563898) but works as a stand-alone. 
> 
> Girl!verse, so Gordon = Gertrude. The porn's a different style from my [Biting Hands](http://archiveofourown.org/series/61625) verse, but writing that was what finally got me to write this, which I've had in the back of my mind since I wrote Lay Some Bricks Down, so this has technically been a long time coming. (Point for the pun. *g*)
> 
> TW: Internalized biphobia; internalized (body, esteem) hate; allusions to past sex work & rape

  
You want to fuck her.  
  
You want to fuck her but the thing is there's no guy to hide behind, no threesome or "experiment" or whatever else you tell yourself at the end of the day to explain away what this is. Cause you know what this is and you know what it means, and if you could you'd dig it out and bleed yourself dry, change your body until it's molded correctly into the soldier you're supposed to be. You're just this _thing_ , this animal trapped inside a fragile body and you throw yourself at monsters and in front of bullets and you've been broken and torn and no matter what you do you can't get rid of it, just eating inside of you.  
  
You want to fuck her, is the thing, but you also want to lay yourself bare because when you look in her eyes - and fuck you're not hiding well at all because you can't look away - you can see that she _knows_. She knows, in the way Dad was too much of a man and Sam was too much of a civilian to get, and maybe you want to cut this thing out of you but maybe also you're falling down inside from the relief of someone else finally _getting_ it.  
  
Gertrude grabs your hand, traps it under hers. Says, "Doesn't seem like your sister is much like us." Says, "I'm not saying she's wrong. Just different." Says, thumb running over your wrist point, almost soothingly, "But you and me? We were born to do this." Says, and her voice is like fire, like twenty years of selling your body for this life, "It's in our blood."  
  
You stare at her hand, and it's gentle on yours, soft, dark skin with gun calluses and scars, and you don't think she's really right but you also think it's the same lie you've been telling yourself since Dad first put a gun into your hands, first said, "Easy there" as your small hands clasped it and squeezed, target just a can on a random fence in a random state.  
  


You lick your lips, flick your eyes up and catch her watching them, the way your tongue rolls over the bottom one like a nervous tell, and there's this buzzing in your ears you can't won't can't listen to and the delivery may be a little different but you've never shied away from using your body to drown out everything else. If you want escape she wouldn't offer it, you know that, but you also know she'd tell you this - not comfort, she wouldn't call it comfort, but maybe something between recognition and a grace period - this is cheap and free and made to help you get to the next step along the rope bridge fraying underneath you.

  
She doesn't say it, so you do, gathering your courage because this is the first time - first person, really - who won't let you lie to yourself like you're some fucking baby too scared to even turn on the flashlight in the dark and see what's looking back from the shadows. And you aren't that, won't ever fucking be that again, so you say, voice husky like you've already done all manner of dirty, rough, scream-worthy shit to each other, you say, "You want to get out of here?"

  
And there's no hesitation, there's no pause, because if there's one lesson she's already learned and you've gotten several crash courses in, it's not your head on the chopping block when you freeze before a decision, and pleasure is whatever fleeting snatch you can steal to get the taste of metal out your mouth.

  
"Yeah, let's get out of here."

****

This is fucking Montana (though to be fair, you'd say the same thing for any state you were in), so neither of you two touch each other while you walk out the bar and across the road to the motel. You crowd close enough for her to feel your heat against her back and she fumbles the key slightly when you let warm breath blow across her neck. She pushes into you slightly, says, "The smirk ain't sexy, fucker" without having to turn around to see  it, and your mouth pulls into a smile before you can help it even as she finally gets the door open.

  
Before you can push her in she twists, grabbing your shirt and yanking you in, enough to close the door (locks it too, neither of you are stupid) and slam you against it. She's in your space faster than a monster you hunt, and her lips are on yours and she's got one hand on your hip and the other against your throat, both being used to push you into the door and her mouth's sloppy on yours, tongues dueling. She pulls back enough to bite your bottom lip so it stings, uses the hand on your throat to push your chin up so she can run those teeth against the tendons in your neck, sucking into the skin like she plans to leave you bruised and raw and red, like she refuses to be your secret.

  
Your hands are trying to grab any flesh they can, and you have to whine before she'll release you just long enough for you to strip her shirts and bra off her arms, leave her bare with her tits jutting out and in your hands before someone can say go. She's careful enough sliding your leather jacket off, and you pull your amulet off and hang it on the door knob, but then your thumbs are rubbing into her nipples with just enough pressure to make it ride that edge of pain, and she mostly rips your shirt over your head so your hands are barely removed from where they're playing with her breasts. Her hands fumble behind your back until you laugh, arching your back against the door to push your tits into her face more, and then she's got the front clasp undone and doesn't even bother removing your bra all the way before her mouth is on them, sucking and biting and same treatment as your neck and your head slams against the door because you're wetter than you've ever been and it's still technically foreplay.

  
She pushes even further into your space, one leg jamming between your legs and rubbing your pussy like she's got no doubt you can feel it through your jeans. You're growling and leaving scratches on her back, clawing against her spine until you manage to rub together two brain cells and get your hands to unbuckle her belt, unbutton and unzip her so you can stick your hand into her panties. It's a slightly awkward angle but you could give less of a shit because she's fucking soaked through and you got two fingers curled up inside of her before she can blink.

  
"Fuuuuuck," she moans, the vibrations rattling across your nipple, and you maybe try to smirk but you can't get over your fingers working in and out of her, the way her muscles clench around them like she's afraid they aren't coming back, and you got a third finger inside her before she can straighten her head back on enough to remember she was in the middle of something else (sucking your tits raw, mostly) and the way she pants against your sternum is fucking gorgeous.

  
Her hands are trying to work around to get your own pants open, and she's just about got your belt when you add a fourth finger and she gets distracted fucking herself on your hand, her thigh still jamming up into your pussy. You can feel her on the edge but then she's got your pants open and her own hand on you and fuck it feels so good, not enough metaphors in the world to describe this and you gotta do something fast before she makes you come like it's your first time getting fingered and you got no control.

  
You add your thumb against her clit as you keep plowing your other four fingers into her and her eyes screw shut, mouth open and your licking into it as her whole body seems to shake on you, neither of you too coordinated at this point. And you have to lean back even though her mouth is hot and wet and fucking sloppy on yours, because she's coming and coming and her hand is forgotten but keeps making these jerky motions and she looks so fucked out and you're so wet and you got your free hand holding hers inside your pants and moving it just right because you refuse to come just from watching her face tilt back like the best example of shameless sex.

  
It hits you like a fucking freight train and her mouth is back on yours, swallowing every fucking word you have that comes tumbling out, _please_ and _more_ and _fuck_ and _fuck_ and _fuck,_ and you don't even finish falling apart before she's got her pants and boots off. Her hand slides up your clit as you cross your legs enough to toe off your own boots and Jesus fucking Christ and you give a little sob and then your pants are discarded to the side too.

She switches positions on you, leans against the door and pushes your shoulders down until you're on your knees in front of her, and you don't have long enough hair for her to grab but she's doing just fine directing where she wants your face by digging her fingers into your skull. You nuzzle into her curls, feel how she's already sticky with her juices, and then she's got one leg over your shoulder so you can bend and get your mouth in her, fingers into her hips to move her, slurping her up like she's cherry filling and sucking everywhere, using your nose and your tongue and forget breathing cause your jaw and mouth are working her over, you can feel it as her fingers get tighter and tighter into your skull and it's too much, you let one of your hands fall from her side (she knows what she's doing anyways, doesn't need fucking directions) and land on yourself, because the noises she makes are fucking illegal and you don't stop for a second until she winds herself so tight and fucking twitches under your continued attention until she rips your head off and angles it away, looking down at you.

  
You know what kind of picture you make, face half wet, lips swollen and pupils wide, and she pulls your head out even further so your back is arching again, your tits pushed up like an offering and she watches your hand disappearing under the folds of your pussy, watches you rock against your own fingers until your gasping her name out, dragging it for yourself just as long as you did for her.

  
You slow down, stop, breath panting out and so's hers, and she leans down and licks herself off your face, tongue working like she's fucking your pussy and she's in your mouth and that doesn't help the heavy breathing at all, but you don't pull away until she moves back too.

  
You smirk, because this feels...you run your tongue over your lips, deliberate, watch her follow like she hadn't just had her mouth on yours. You let your eyes look around the room, and you've destroyed the space around the door but the rest of it is pristine, if you don't count the way you can smell the sex in the air. She follows your gaze, smirks back.

  
"Just imagine if we used a bed," she says, and you want to take her up on it, the offer, the promise in her voice, but this isn't even a one night stand, it can't be, it's the fuck between moments on a hunt, those places you carve out of your existence because it's the only way to make the hollow feeling go away.

  
"Sammy's waiting," you say, let her hear the regret because you have that, that you did this and that you aren't still doing it and you don't actually want to know which one is worse in you.

  
She nods, grabs your hand and pulls you up to your feet. You get dressed; pull the necklace off the doorknob and over your head last.

  
"Shower and meet back at yours in ten?" she says.

  
"Yeah, make it fifteen, room 12," you tell her.

  
She pulls you close, kisses you chastely on your mouth, not even in the same neighborhood as everything else you've done to each other tonight, and it's just kindness and you can't, _you_ _can't_ , not with Dad's words marking you and Sammy and you ca-

  
"I had a good time," you offer her, and if she notices the way your smile is a little broken, well, she gets it, you can trust that at least.

  
"Fifteen minutes," she reminds you, and you nod and leave, bracing yourself in the cold air as you shut her door behind you. This isn't anything but what it's always been, and you head back to your room, breath coming out in small white puffs, the amulet knocking against your sternum like an anthem.


End file.
